


oh, every gang's a bit incestuous

by butforthegrace



Category: Archie Comics
Genre: Casual dating, F/M, Multi, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butforthegrace/pseuds/butforthegrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It still sucks, though, because it’s Valentine’s Day.  Who gets dumped on </i>Valentine’s Day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, every gang's a bit incestuous

i.

 

Veronica’s turned him down again.

It’s not really that surprising anymore, or that unexpected; this is always how it goes.  Archie has money.  Archie promises to take Ronnie somewhere nice and buy her something expensive.  Archie drops all his money on the something expensive.  Ronnie drops him.

It still sucks, though, because it’s Valentine’s Day.  Who gets dumped on _Valentine’s Day?_ (Archie, apparently.)

“Sorry,” she’d said when he went up to her after English to tell her how much he was looking forward to tonight.  “I realized that Reggie asked me out for tonight—it was before you did.”  She hadn’t looked all that sorry; she could afford not to.  She was fixing up her lip gloss, looking at a compact mirror instead of at him; he’d felt like he’d been here a thousand times.

And now here he is, lying on his bed, wondering what the heck he’s supposed to do tonight.

He could call Jughead, he guesses, or do homework, or practice some of the songs he wrote for the Archies, or…

He sits up.  Or he could call Betty.  She doesn’t need fancy restaurants to have a good date; she won’t ditch him right before a date for a jerk like Reggie.

(He ignores, of course, that if she did it would be deserved; he ignores that he’s ditched her for Veronica a thousand times.)

He finds his cell phone—it’s a couple years old and the screen is cracked, but it still works.  He dials Betty’s number, and after two rings—one more than usual—she picks up:

“Hi, Archie.”

She sounds distant, and something in his stomach twists a little.  This isn’t normal.  But he presses on: “I was wondering, Bets: are you free tonight?”

“Um.”  He hears the distant crackling sound of pages rustling.  “Yeah—yeah, I am.”

“Where do you want to go?” He doesn’t even think to ask if she wants to go out anymore; the answer is always yes.  They’ve worn deep tracks into the earth of their relationship over the years, and it always goes like this.  He’ll always ask her out without doing it outright; she’ll always say yes.

“We could just go to Pop’s, if you want,” she says diplomatically.

He smiles, relieved.  Good old Betty, always thinking of the familiar, of the safe—of the, well, _inexpensive._   “How’s six?”

“Seven is great.”  For the first time she sounds enthusiastic, a little breathless even.  “I’ll see you there!” she chirps, and then the phone goes silent at his ear.

Archie doesn’t bother to change his clothes, just puts on some fresh deodorant and then heads out at six forty-five to drive to Pop Tate’s.  Betty gets there promptly at seven, and he’s struck like he always is at how pretty she is: soft blonde hair up in a ponytail, big blue eyes, wide sweet smile.  She’s in jeans and a white sweater, and he can’t stop staring as she sits down across from him.

(This is why he can’t choose, will never be able to choose: every time he sees Betty is like the first time, and every time he sees Veronica is like the first time.)

He hands her a rose, picked up in haste from the florist down the street.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful.”

Her smile gets wider as she raises the flower to her nose.  “Oh, Archie,” she sighs.  “It’s gorgeous.  Thank you.”

They wind up on a park bench an hour later, the rose laid carefully to Betty’s side.  Archie tries his hardest to be gentlemanly—both girls prefer that, he’s found—so it’s not hard to keep Betty from crushing the rose as he kisses her, keeping his hands carefully above her shoulders.

They’re only on the bench for around fifteen minutes.  Betty’s cheeks are flushed when they finally pull away from each other, and she sighs, “That was lovely.”

He perks up.  Maybe if he asks her to come over to his place—

“But I have to go now.”  She smiles apologetically.  “I have a lot of homework tonight.”

He tries not to let the disappointment show on his face.  “Oh—well.  Okay.  I’ll drive you home?”

“Sure.”

They kiss a little more in the car once it’s parked in front of her house, but it’s not long before Archie watches her go, bounding up the walk to her house.  He watches until she closes the door behind her (she blows him a kiss first), and then he drives away.

 

 

ii.

 

Betty gets home at eight-thirty, which isn’t surprising when she’s been out with Archie.  She has a personal rule, unspoken, that she can’t spend too much time with him, even if she wants to.  It always hurts too much when he seems to forget by the next day that she exists.  She’s learned that over and over again.

“Betty,” calls her mother from the living room as she walks in the door.  “One of your friends came over about homework.  And your father and I are leaving in ten minutes for the restaurant, if he’s ready in time!” That last shouted up in the general direction of their bedroom.  There’s faint laughter from up the stairs, which Betty trudges up, not bothering to respond to her mother.

She doesn’t understand why she’s in such a dark mood after such a lovely date.  Well.  That’s not strictly true.  She knows where her mood came from; she knows that she was playing second choice for Archie yet again, that his original plans for the night had been with Veronica.

She opens her bedroom door, slams it shut, drops her coat on the floor and slumps against the door.

“Feeling down, sunshine?”

She looks up, startled, to see Reggie sitting on her bed like he owns it.  He’s smirking and in a suit, and there’s smeared red lipstick on the corner of his mouth.  Clearly he’s just come from his date with Veronica.

“You’re the friend who needs homework help?” Betty asks in disbelief.

He shrugs.  “I needed a pretext to come over.”

“Mm.”  She smiles and stands up, smoothing down her sweater.  “Well.  My parents _did_ let you in.”

“Looks like they’re not as perceptive as their daughter.”

“Oh?”

He scoots over on the bed, pats the empty space next to him.  “Come sit.  I’ll explain.”

“You’re a dangerous man, Reggie Mantle,” says Betty, but she sits anyway, and doesn’t protest when he presses his leg against hers.

“Well,” he tells her, “it’s like this.  I came to the door, and I rang the bell, and your mother answered, and I used my charm—“

She snorts, and he grabs her arm.  “What? Don’t you believe me?”

“Reggie Mantle, charming? Perish the thought.”  She looks up, and then she’s caught by his gaze.  He’s not laughing, and neither is she, not anymore.

“You look beautiful tonight, you know,” he says in a low voice, just as her parents yell their goodbyes from downstairs.

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear; as his finger trails down her jawline, she shivers a little.

“Perish the thought indeed,” he says, and then he kisses her.

Betty winds up with her blouse off and her bra nearly unhooked before she finally stops Reggie.  She’s breathless, and there’s more lipstick on his face than there was twenty minutes ago.

“We need to stop,” she says, as his hand snakes up her back.  “Reggie—“

His hand freezes where it is, and he draws back.  “You want to stop?”

“Yeah.  I mean.  I don’t _want_ to,” she says sheepishly, “but we should.”

He nods.  “Okay.  Do you want me to leave?”

“We could just watch a movie.  I could make brownies.”  She’s bending over the side of her bed now, groping around the floor for her shirt.

“Maybe not a movie,” he says pointedly, and she swears her face must be turning scarlet right now.

“We could just talk.”

“And how well does that ever turn out for us?” he murmurs.

“It’d turn out a bit better if you stopped staring at my breasts.”  She smirks as he looks up guiltily.

“Maybe I should just go home then.”

“Maybe,” she echoes.

He kisses her before he walks out the door, and she almost kisses him back too hard, but she remembers herself.  He walks down to the sidewalk, where his car is parked a few houses down, and she watches as he goes, half wishing he didn’t have to leave at all.

 

 

iii.

 

Reggie pulls up in front of Veronica’s house ten minutes later.  She’d told him at dinner that he should come over later, that her parents would be out celebrating Valentine’s Day; obviously, he was more than happy to come over.  Making out with two girls in one night? Happy Valentine’s _indeed!_

He gets out of his car, strolls up to the door, rings the doorbell; Ronnie opens it a minute later, grinning.  “Hey there, lover,” she purrs, and lets him in.

She’s changed her clothes since their expensive restaurant dinner.  Gone is the demure-yet-sexy red dress with a little pearl heart sewn at the neck (strangely tacky for Veronica, but the dress was tight enough that he didn’t dwell on it long), traded in for a slinky black number and the glimpse of a lacy white bra.  _Damn._

The moment she shuts the door, he grabs her around the waist.  “So we’re alone, then?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says as he kisses her neck.  “But not for—not for long, I think my parents will be home—“

Reggie never finds out when Veronica’s parents will be home.  She’s too busy pulling him up the stairs to her bedroom, their hands all over each other, as if the world is ending tonight.  He’s hardly complaining—until they’re on her bed, and she’s kissing him properly, and then she stops.

“You smell like Betty,” she pronounces.

“What?” He’s still in a haze of Veronica—her mouth, her hair, her perfume.  He’s forgotten all about the blonde he’d seen earlier.

“You smell like Betty.  I’d know her perfume anywhere—cheap, overwhelmingly floral…” Veronica’s nose wrinkles, and she pulls away.  “You’ve been seeing Betty tonight.”

“I haven’t.  You’re imagining it.”

“No, I’m not.”  Veronica stands up, smooths the bottom of her dress now.  “You need to go, Reggie.”

“What?” He looks up at her, shocked.  “But you see me and Archie the same night all the time—“

“ _Betty,_ Reggie? Really?” Veronica shakes her head.  “No.  This was our valentine’s day.  I know it means nothing to a—a cad like you, but—“

“Fine.  Fine.  I’ll go!” And he does, stomping out of the bedroom, down the stairs, to the front door.  He hesitates there, hoping he’ll turn around and see her—and he does, but she’s holding the house keys and she looks as mad as ever.

“Go,” she says, and he does.

 

 

iv.

 

Veronica waits until Reggie’s car pulls out of the driveway, and then she goes to the phone.  Truth be told, she’s not actually that upset—more surprised, because Betty and Reggie? Really? And shouldn’t Betty have gone with Archie tonight? She supposes she’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning for the gossip, but for now her work is done.  She’s got to seem some kind of unattainable; why else would anyone try to attain her?

She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, clears her throat, and dials a number.

The phone is picked up after about half a ring, and the voice on the other end is eager: “Ronnie?”

“Hi, lover,” says Veronica, without any real enthusiasm.  _Gotta make him work._

“How are you, Ron? I missed you tonight.”

“Poor Betty.  I’m glad to hear you appreciated your time with her.”

She can practically see the panic on his face.  “Ron, I—“

“No, no.  _I_ don’t care.  In fact, I was calling to see if you wanted to go out now.”  She examines her nails, tries to sound bored.  “How does a midnight date at Pop’s strike you?”

“Pop’s? Are you sure?”

“Well, none of the _good_ places are open this late, darling.”

“Okay—okay.  I’ll pick you up right away!” And the line goes dead.

Must be racing out of his room now, Ronnie thinks, running to his car, turning the key in the ignition, pulling out of the driveway…

She’s got time, though.  He’ll wait for her.  She puts on a different dress and fixes her hair, still mussed from rolling around with Reggie.  When she hears a honk from outside, she heads downstairs—slowly, slowly—and comes to the door half a minute after the doorbell’s rung.

Archie’s out there, in a rented tux, with a bouquet of roses in his hand and a stupid hopeful grin plastered on his face.  Veronica doesn’t like to think about it, but this is probably more than Betty got.

But she kisses him anyway, and tries not to feel bad about it, because apparently Betty sunk her claws into Reggie tonight and this is just how things are.  It’s always been how things are.  Betty dates Archie, Archie dates Veronica, Veronica dates Reggie.  Reggie and Betty are the newest part of the equation, but not exactly shocking; their group’s already so tangled up, what’s a little more equal opportunity dating? Maybe it’s for the best.  Maybe Veronica will get Archie to herself now.  Although the competition is so fun…

She puts it out of her mind as she gets into the car with Archie.  It doesn’t matter now.  She’s with him, and Valentine’s Day isn’t quite over yet, and there’s a bouquet of roses on her lap.

She kisses Archie before he starts up the engine, and then again once they stop outside Pop’s.  He looks a bit dazed, and she’s pleased; here’s someone who would rather be with her than with Betty.

“Come on,” she purrs.  “Let’s go get something to eat.”

There are a surprising number of people in Pop’s tonight, and Pop Tate himself quirks an eyebrow when he sees Archie come in for the second time that night.  Veronica chooses not to comment, even as Archie turns slightly red.  They get a corner booth, settle in, and order.

Archie can’t take his eyes off Veronica, unsurprisingly.  She enjoys the attention.  She always has.  And she wonders for a moment why she bothers with Reggie: it’s fun having someone to plot and banter with, but he never looks at her this adoringly, like he would do anything in the world if she just asked it.  She’d feel bad if it weren’t so _fun._

And it gets more fun: half an hour later they’re steaming up the windows in Archie’s car, parked outside her house.

As she’s reaching into the waistband of his pants, he grabs her hand, stops her.  “Ron…”

“What’s wrong, lover?” she whispers into his ear, before pressing a kiss to his neck.  “Don’t you want me?”

“I do, but…” He gestures frantically, although his eyes are on her tongue as she slowly licks her lips.  “Not here.  Not in the car.”

He has a point, Veronica has to admit.  It’s cramped, people can see in (although she’s never been one to mind a little public display of affection), and Veronica Lodge does not have sex in _cars._   Not cheap ones.  But right now it’s really just about how nervous Archie looks when she pouts, how she wants to have him in the palm of her hand, in so many different ways…

“Are you sure?” She pulls away from him, sharply enough that the space between them will fill with her ghost.  “Well.  If that’s how you want it…”

“Are—are you mad?” He’s panicking, and she’s relishing it.  _Don’t you know how to play this game by now, darling?_

“No.  Just take me home.”  When she notices how he’s looking at her—like he needs her to clarify—she smirks.  “As in, drop me off at my front door.  I’m tired.”

He lets out a long sigh, but when he’s got his shirt back on, he does as he’s asked.  That’s the nice thing about Archie.  He always does as he’s told.  He’s always the good guy.

Too bad Veronica doesn’t really like nice or good, or anything of the sort.

When he parks in front of her house, she gives him a chaste kiss on the lips, and he sighs again but says good night and lets her go.

 _Not my most successful Valentine’s Day,_ she muses as she heads up the walk to her house.  But it’s fine.  She has years and years left to make it perfect.


End file.
